


Progeny

by OneofWebs



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Cute Kids, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, Self-Esteem Issues, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Lambert (The Witcher), whittling, wood carvings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Short drabbles about the Witchers and their kids.[Marked Complete; Potential Updates Possible]
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. Lambert's Little Girl

**Author's Note:**

> While I may never want kids, that will not stop me from finding a way to give my favorite characters children simply because I enjoy writing about family fondness.

They weren’t supposed to be out here, but there was absolutely nothing that Lambert wouldn’t do for this little girl. Ardena, with long brown hair and big, bright blue eyes, was missing her two front teeth. Her face was splattered with childhood freckles. She was still too young to even think about any sort of training, which meant she wasn’t supposed to be hopping along the walls of Kaer Morhen. The compromise was the fact that Lambert was right there beside her. They were going down to the courtyard; the walk was short, and if she fell, he’d catch her.

She had her arms out trying to balance herself as they walked. They were taking it slow, because the wall was going to end just up ahead where age had caused part of it to topple. The wall continued on the other side, but if Lambert was going to do this, he was at least trying to do it responsibly. They usually stopped at the break in the wall.

But, suddenly, Ardena was coming to a stop. She found a sturdy bit of stone to stand on and tested it by raising up on her toes and falling back on her heels. She did it a few times before she decided it was fine. Then, she folded her arms and pursed her lips.

“What’s the matter now, buttercup?” Lambert asked, swinging around on his heel to face her.

“Let’s go further!” She exclaimed. “I can make it if I jump, can’t I?”

“Best not,” he said, pointing back up to the room from whence they’d come. “We need to go back.”

“No! Let me—I want to try. Oh, please, Daddy, can’t I try?” Ardena went from having folded arms to folded hands, begging Lambert for just five more minutes out on the wall.

Lambert looked at her, and then he looked at the hole in the wall. He looked at her again and let out one hefty sigh. She wouldn’t be content with just hopping off the wall to walk past the hole—she wanted to jump it. Lambert, being the fool that he was, was apparently going to let her. He didn’t say that out loud, but she knew what his answer was as he took several large, exaggerated steps to the other side of the hole in the wall. He’d let her do it, but only if she were going to do it safely, meaning that he was in a position to catch her.

“Make it quick, buttercup,” he said. “We need to get back before _I_ get in trouble.” Oh, but it was worth it when she smiled.

She stepped back and took up her badly stationed stance, ready to run for the break in the wall. Lambert gave her to the count of three, and once he hit three, Ardena took off in as best a run as she could manage for her age and height. Still, she reached the beginning of the break and leapt across the opening. Lambert’s heart all but stilled in his chest as the following three seconds took place in the span of years.

At second one, Ardena’s right foot made contact with the wall.

At second two, her left foot did.

At second three, her left foot’s connection didn’t stick, and she started to fall. She was falling inward, not perilously off the side of a broken stone wall, but still ever dangerously to the stone walkway they were on. Lambert dashed into action, quick as his instincts would take him. He wasn’t a second late. As Ardena fell, she fell right into Lambert’s outstretched arms. He grabbed her right out of the air, nearly tripping over his own shoes with his haste to catch her. But he had her. He had her in his arms, one tucked under her knees and one around her shoulders.

“Daddy!” Ardena shouted, breathing hard and red-faced. How dare she look so happy? Lambert’s heart was ready to burst out of his chest. In three seconds, he’d seen what might have been his little girl’s death. All his fault, because he let her do something she wasn’t ready to do.

“I’ve got you,” he said, mostly for his own benefit. “I’ve got you, buttercup.”

Ardena looked up at him with those heinously blue eyes she had. She folded her little hands in front of herself, smiling widely. “You saved me,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding uselessly. “Yeah, I did. You’re okay.”

Ardena surged up and wrapped her arms around Lambert’s neck. “You’re my hero!” She shouted, and Lambert might have really just felt his heart break. He held her against his chest, pressing a kiss into her hair. He was no good as a hero, but he would be damned if he couldn’t keep his newly found title.

As the fearless menace she was, Ardena’s fear didn’t last more than that brief moment. Within an instant, she was ready to try the next dangerous thing she could get her hand on. Lambert let her down; though he tried to usher her back to his room, Ardena would not be controlled. She ran right past him, using the path this time instead of the wall, and was well on her way down towards the open training area at the bottom.

Lambert made no quick move to follow and instead took his time meandering down. He had an eye on her, so she couldn’t get into anything too dangerous. Lambert knew she would, though. Eventually. He wouldn’t be able to keep that girl away from a sword for long. When the time came, he’d be the one to train her, too. He just hoped that it would never go further. Ardena’s eyes were too blue—too perfectly beautiful—to ever be sullied yellow.


	2. Eskel's Little Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please do not give six-year-olds knives

Eskel leaned back in his chair and ruffled a hand back through his hair. He’d left the knife on the table, but in his hand was a half-carved statue of wood. It was beginning to look like what he hoped was a wolf, but this was a relatively new hobby of Eskel’s. It was easy enough to go into town and pick up things with his coin to work as toys, but there was something about _making_ his son a toy that just struck deep enough to try. If he worked at it long enough, he might even be good enough to give Emiel the toy.

Already, Eskel had carved three wolf statues. The first one had a misshapen face. The second had a missing front leg, as Eskel had carved the wood too thin, and it had turned brittle in an instant. The third, Eskel had given up on halfway through, because he’d hated it. Now, the fourth was beginning to look the same. There was nothing objectively wrong with the carving. He’d seen carvings in towns, before; artists were always taking liberties with their interpretations of things. Something about it just wasn’t good enough. Emiel needed something perfect.

Eskel grabbed the knife again and leaned over the desk. He was going to focus on _not_ messing this one up, because he was spending too much time on this. It wouldn’t be long until he was accused of slacking, but these were duties just as important as training. Maybe not _every_ boy needed a father who would make him things, but this was something that Eskel might have thought about if he thought often about having a father. He didn’t have much to go from, but the least he could do was given Emiel the father he’d always wanted.

The problem was, Eskel didn’t know what he was doing. Carving was difficult enough; it was even more difficult when the eye on it was a scrutinizing as Eskel’s tended to be. He was just about to go in for the details on the face when the door to his room slammed right open, knocking into the wall. Eskel should have known Emiel was coming before he ever showed up, but Eskel had been so focused on what he was doing, he hadn’t. The shock had caused him to jolt, which sent the knife up to the left.

The eye was ruined. Eskel sighed, slumping back in his chair and letting the knife clamber back to the desk. He looked at the wolf before just tossing it up alongside the knife. He’d throw it out with the other three failures and then consider throwing himself out as the fifth. Before he jumped to the theatrics, he looked over to the open door.

“I’m sorry,” Emiel squeaked. “I just—I was running, and—”

“I’m not angry,” Eskel corrected, reaching out his hand. “Come here, Emmie.”

Emiel beamed and dashed across the room. Eskel met him, catching him as he jumped up into the chair. Emiel was a bit short for his age, but seeing as who his father was, Eskel was sure he would shoot up when he reached the right age. Emiel had dark brown hair that was already starting to turn to waves. In contrast, his eyes were a bright, perfect blue. He was only six, which meant he had more energy than he knew what to do with. That often ended with him running around Kaer Morhen causing trouble.

“What are you doing?” Emiel asked. He planted himself right in Eskel’s lap and leaned over the desk.

“I’m giving my best attempt towards carving,” Eskel said. “They call it whittling. It’s where you make shapes out of wood, do you see?” Eskel held up his fourth failed wolf so that Emiel could see it.

“You made this?” Emiel marveled, reaching out for it with his little hands grabbing. Eskel hesitated, but he let Emiel take the half-carved wolf instead of arguing for it. If Emiel wanted to look, he could look.

“It’s not the best,” Eskel admitted. “It’s only the fourth attempt.”

“For your first time ever?” Emiel gawked. Eskel hummed an affirmative and leaned forward. He had his arms around Emiel’s middle to help him look at the wolf.

Emiel seemed enthused with the half-finished carving. He wanted to look at the details that Eskel had started on, which eventually led to Eskel having to show off the face. The face would have been perfect if not for Emiel bursting through the door when he did. Eskel wouldn’t say that. In fact, he didn’t say anything. Emiel was looking at the wolf with unchecked concentration, tracing his fingertips over the wooden details.

“What’s got your mind, Emiel?” Eskel asked.

“It—” Emiel’s voice caught in his throat as he tried to formulate the words. He brushed his fingers over the _mistake_ Eskel had made. “It looks like you,” he said, twisting in Eskel’s lap to look at him. He held the wolf up to Eskel’s face, as if to prove his point. “It looks like Daddy.”

Eskel looked at the wolf, then to Emiel. He looked back at the wolf, then to Emiel again. Emiel seemed so sure in his decision, and his determination to be correct showed in the hard line of his brows. He pointed to the wolf, trying to prove his point.

“See, Daddy? It’s got your face.”

Emiel was referring to the scars. Scars that, all his life, Eskel had been ashamed of. That _surprise_ had left him so horribly disfigured that people visibly flinched at the sight of him. The first time he’d ever held Emiel, he’d been afraid that his appearance would have made the babe scream. Emiel hadn’t screamed, no more than any normal child would straight from the womb. Even as he’d gotten older, Emiel had never been afraid of Eskel. He didn’t see a disfigured Witcher. He saw Daddy.

“I suppose it is,” Eskel finally said, taking the wolf.

“Why were you making it?”

“For you. I thought you might like one to play with.”

Emiel’s smile brightened. “To play with? Oh—can I help? I want to learn.”

It was a stupid idea. Eskel _knew_ it was a stupid idea, but how could he refuse Emiel. This was the safest place that Emiel could be, regardless of how Eskel looked at himself. Right there in his lap, Emiel was safe and happy. He was interested, too, in everything that Eskel did. The natural curiosity of a child, maybe, but Eskel was flattered by it all the same. He got Emiel situated in his lap, facing forward, and grabbed the knife off the desk.

Emiel held both the knife and the wolf, with Eskel’s large hands settled on top as a gentle guide. He talked Emiel through what he knew, or what he’d figured out in his practice rounds. This wolf had been meant to join the trash pile, but now that Emiel was working so diligently on it with him, Eskel couldn’t help but feel a bit fonder of the thing. Even if it was disfigured, Emiel wanted it, which meant it was perfectly good enough.


	3. [C] Lambert Learns to Knit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt] Ardena deserves the best clothes, so Lambert decides he'll learn to make them. He's not very good at it, but she doesn't seem to mind.

Lambert had seen the sorry excuse for _children_ _’s clothes_ they were selling out in towns, because he’d been looking. If he had to leave Ardena in that big awful keep for the whole of a year, then he, by every right, should bring something back for her. He couldn’t imagine what awful things Vesemir was having her do—though it couldn’t have strayed too far off from things like cleaning and learning. Lambert hated those things, so he was sure Ardena didn’t care for them, either. She deserved a gift for her lonely suffering.

The problem was, he hated all of it. Maybe it was good enough for these families out here, but it wasn’t good enough for his daughter. He had a bit of a lofty, prideful thought that he could do it better. He hadn’t ever been so sure of his craftier skills until that exact moment when he was _sure_ he could do this. Ardena deserved it, after all. She would probably have liked just about anything he brought her home, simply because it meant he was home. She’d cried in the spring when he’d had to go.

Instead of spending a couple of coins on something already made, Lambert spent a couple of coins on stuff to make it himself. It’d give him something to do, anyway. Nothing was quite little sitting in Kaer Morhen all winter rotting with boredom. There’d been a couple of years where he didn’t even go back, but he had a good reason to go back. Until Ardena could come with him, he had to go back to her. He was getting ready to start the ride back. He’d start working on it the first night he camped.

He ended up staying first in a town, where some old lady at the inn with nothing to do showed him how to get started. She’d initially spoke to him because she thought it was _strange_ —a Witcher with knitting needles. His daughter needing clothes was nothing to be ashamed of, so he just explained it. She was completely overjoyed to hear the story and was even more so happy to show Lambert what he needed to do. He felt practically like an expert by the end of the night, and he had half of a little booty.

It took Lambert a week to get from town into the mountains, and by then, he’d finished his small project. He wouldn’t call it amazing work, and he’d certainly not _actually_ been able to do it better than the ones he’d seen in town, but the sentiment counted for more. He’d never figured himself for a sentimental man, either, but here he was. Ardena was turning him soft, and he found he didn’t even mind. He was sure he’d been the first one back to Kaer Morhen, too, which had never happened in all his years as a Witcher. He was usually last or did not return at all.

Ardena was waiting for him when he got home; he’d never had a single reason to look at this place and call it home, but she changed that. Lambert dropped down off of his horse, and he could already hear her shrieking. A smile bloomed up on his face instantly and without his consent. Never in his _life_ did he think he would be so stricken, but then he saw her running over the yard. It hadn’t snowed yet, not heavily. She was running around barefoot, still, and Vesemir wasn’t far behind her.

“Daddy!” Ardena shouted, and she nearly threw herself at him. He caught her, hoisting her up into the air. He was always careful not to knock her head on his armor, but she frankly didn’t care. She couldn’t get her arms around his neck fast enough, squeezing enough to nearly make him gasp.

Vesemir trod up behind her, panting and nearly laughing. “She is an absolutely menace,” he said. “Impossible to keep track of.”

Lambert patted her back. “That’s my girl. Giving Vesemir a hard time, hm?”

Ardena pulled back and just grinned. She grinned so widely, her eyes shining. She leaned forward to knock her head right into Lambert’s, and he gasped like it’d hurt. She laughed and laughed and threw herself back down to Lambert’s shoulder, finally just taking a minute to breathe.

Vesemir offered to take care of Lambert’s horse so he could take care of his daughter; it was a fair enough trade. Vesemir looked tired, and Lambert didn’t blame him. Ardena would be seven, soon, which meant she was just getting better at mischief. Maybe Lambert would work some of that out of her while he was here. Maybe they would eat stolen snacks in the cellar one night. He hadn’t decided.

He took Ardena up to his room and plopped her right on the bed. She squirmed, ready to jump back up and _do_ things. Never very good at sitting still. Lambert wasn’t either.

“I got you something, little one,” Lambert said, sitting down next to her. She jumped up onto her knees, then, scooting across the bed to grab onto Lambert’s arm.

“Daddy? What, what?” She bounced, squeezing him.

He presented the little knitted booties to her, right then, and she _squealed_. He’d splurged a bit to make sure he could make them purple. A very expensive color, but Ardena loved it. Suited her royal sorts of tastes. She grabbed the booties right out of his hands and fell back onto the bed, laughing.

“Let’s get them on,” he said. “Boots on after, and we can go play in the snow, okay?”

“No boots!” Ardena shot back up. “No boots.”

“Yes, boots. You can’t go play in the snow without boots.”

“No boots!” She demanded again, but she at least was slipping on the booties. They were a bit big, but she would grow into them. Lambert had a feeling she would be tall. “Boots will hide. I want to show Uncle Vesemir.”

Lambert started at her for a minute, an oddly fond smile on his face. She wanted to show them off. She loved them so much she didn’t want to put on shoes and hide them. However, her cuteness didn’t mean she could get out of wearing boots.

“Boots,” he said. “So you don’t mess them up in the snow. You can take off your shoes at dinner.”

Ardena pursed her lips like she was mulling it over, but she agreed. She sat there on the edge of the bed while Lambert grabbed her boots from the corner and slipped them on, laced them up.

“Where have you been sleeping, little one?” He asked.

“Right here.” She patted Lambert’s bed. “Lots of room.” A giggle.

“That’s my bed.”

“Well, you weren’t _here_ ,” she said, then frowned. “My bed.”

Lambert sighed, finished the lacing, then stood up. He grabbed Ardena off the bed and sat her up on his forearm. “I’ll be here all winter,” he told her.

“You promise?”

“I promise. We can play in the snow every day, if you want. We’ll get more, you know.”

Ardena grinned, her momentary sadness gone, and she flopped forward onto Lambert’s shoulder. He could already hear Vesemir telling him to let the damn girl walk. She was old enough to walk and knew how to walk quite well. He shouldn’t coddle her so much, but it was hard not to. He knew where to draw the line, though, and she would always wear boots if he had a say in it. He would just carry her instead of letting the boots do their job. It was a trade off, and he’d figured it out.

**Author's Note:**

>   
> Kids are left purposefully ambiguous honestly. Where did they come from? YOU DECIDE!  
> [Check me out on Tumblr!](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> [My Twitter!](https://twitter.com/tantumunawrites)  
> 


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